


liars

by ignitesthestars



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, Leadership, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/pseuds/ignitesthestars
Summary: There's something inside of him.He'd put it down to trauma at first. Easy enough to do when he still screams himself awake more nights than not, the taste of iron thick in the back of his throat. When he can laugh about it (when he can force a dry, bitter laugh), he can admit that the Darkling picked his vengeance perfectly.Nikolai can live grimly with the knowledge that he was the one who survived in the end, but there's a certain beauty to a revenge that lives on past your enemy’s demise. He can admire that, even as he rubs idly at the itch under his skin.





	liars

There's something inside of him.

He'd put it down to trauma at first. Easy enough to do when he still screams himself awake more nights than not, the taste of iron thick in the back of his throat. When he can laugh about it (when he can force a dry, bitter laugh), he can admit that the Darkling picked his vengeance perfectly.

Nikolai can live grimly with the knowledge that he was the one who survived in the end, but there's a certain beauty to a revenge that lives on past your enemy’s demise. He can admire that, even as he rubs idly at the itch under his skin.

“If you have some sort of pox, I'm going to murder you.”

It's the small hours of the morning but Zoya looks as - well, Zoya as ever. Nikolai makes a habit of not ogling his advisors, but the Squaller’s beauty is sort of like being punched in the face. It lingers, even after the hit has landed.

“If I have some sort of pox, I might welcome it. Saints forbid we have to deal with plague on top of everything else.”

“You might ruin that beautiful face,” Genya says dryly.

Nikolai’s thumb presses into the soft flesh between the bones of his wrist. Like maybe if he pushes hard enough, he can put a stop to the irritation oozing through his veins. “That _would_ be unfortunate. There’s no chance I could pull off an eye patch as well as you.”

His _otkazat’sya_ advisors are shifting uncomfortably. One yawns. David leans over to Genya with a whispered question about whether or not he should be defending her honour ( _no, dear_ )and Zoya--

Zoya is watching his hands. Nikolai fights the urge to jerk them behind his back, like a child caught in the cookie jar. 

He clears his throat. “Look, I doubt very much that we’re going to solve any of our current crises in an evening. Or morning, as the case may be. Get some sleep, all of you. Thank you for your time, and we’ll reconvene at a more convenient hour tomorrow.”

He notes the names of those who lurch a little too eagerly to their feet. It’s not that he blames anyone for not enjoying - well, any of this - but unusual times call for unusual sacrifices. It’s something to keep an eye on, added to the pile of many thousands of other somethings that go into running a country on the brink of destruction.

Never mind his face. He can’t get the pox simply because there’s no time to schedule it in.

Everyone leaves. Well - almost. Nikolai closes his eyes, tipping his head back as Zoya’s fingers rest on his shoulder, nails dragging over the back of his doublet. Light enough to make him shiver.

“I should order you to go,” he murmurs. The itch under his skin intensifies, crawls up his forearms. 

Saints, he wants her to grab him. Put those nails to better use. If anyone has ever been suited to flaying a man, it's Zoya.

“As though I'd listen.”

“Ah, treason. My old friend.”

Her fingers tip-toe up the back of his neck. Card through his hair. “Only because you were the one committing it. You were distracted tonight.”

“You were distracting.”

“Liar.” She leans in, breath soft against his ear, words distinctly not. “Take your gloves off.”

If she’d asked him to strip naked in front of his full council, he would have done it more eagerly. His body, half relaxed into the warmth of her, stiffens abruptly. He clutches the edge of the table. The squeal of chair legs on hardwood is atrocious, but he knows Zoya doesn’t flinch as she watches him stand, back away from her.

“It’s late,” he tells the ceiling. Looking at her is - impossible, all of a sudden.

Someone else, he thinks, would have tried to convince him. But Zoya is singular, and Zoya brushes past him, not even pausing to deliver her last hit.

“A person can only hold their hand out so long before their arm gets tired, Nikolai Lantsov.”

“Admitting weakness? You?”

She snorts. She’s already at the door. “Only an idiot tells themselves they’re unbreakable.”

Nikolai stays in the room for a very long time after the door shuts. It’s cold, and he has never been an idiot.


End file.
